Today, my driver's license officially
expired. I am such a mondo slacker I've used this Oregon license
for a year in Las Vegas, and now over a year in Washington. It's
time to get my sorry self to the DMV and -what-a-pain-in-the-ass-
take the test to get a new license.

My license is No Longer because..you
say it's your birthday - it's my birthday too-yeah. 28, man.
That's awfully close to 30. Although 30 isn't really 30 to me,
anymore. Now what used to be 30 is 40, if you know what I mean.
Soon 30 will be the new 20. It's all very complex and involves
L'oreal Plentitude Line Eraser Intensive Action with Pure Retinol.

Birthdays are not a real biggie
to me. I mean, you got your milestones: 16 - driver's license!
(weird, full circle) 18 - porn! I mean, cigarettes! And 21 -
get!real!drunk! The rest of it is just..I don't know, aging.
JB knows I am the Birthday Grinch and has embarked upon a very
nice mission to provide me with goodies and dinner and all kinds
of fun stuff. Which is very cool.

I would like
you to dance
Take a cha-cha-cha-chance

If you were wondering? Apparently, my lucky charms for the upcoming
year include the lily, amethyst, and sea horse. Brought to you
by the number seven.

:::

Recently, the Seattle Commission
of Really Loud Repetitive Machines That Make Unbelievable Noises
got together and decided to drive me insane. We got a memo in
our building carefully explaining that with a new sewer line,
a water main, new building construction, a trapped child in a
well, the shocking discovery of an ancient Indian burial ground,
and a nest of concrete-dwelling spotted owls, there will be roadwork
going on in our block for approximately all of 2002. The last
few days they've been using this evil THING which has a main
purpose of generating about 29470283 audio decibels, while also
providing valuable standing around time for guys in yellow vests.

Ooh, I all of a sudden felt
like Michael Douglas in Falling Down. You think I should
run out there, brandishing a baseball bat? "I know
what you people are doing!!!"

:::

Hi. Let me ask you something.
I feel goofy. Ok. So. What do you think of those Wonderbras?
Ladies? Have you worn one? Are they supposed to only work
for people with NO chest? The hell? I look like Boobasaurus Rex,
no shit. It's like a SHELF. I could, like, serve drinks and possibly
a 3 course meal off those puppies. It is not sexy, it's more….freakshow
disturbing, really.

See, I was plundering my closet
for something to wear to dinner tonight and I thought I'd give
the Wonderbra just one more try. It's been living in my drawer
of Shameful Underwear- the stuff that just doesn't work, somehow,
but I can't quite bear to toss them out. You know, the thong
that threatens death by asphyxiation, the scary man-repelling
granny panty, the tights that will not pull up past the knees,
etc. So I whipped that sucker on to rediscover all the many many
reasons I hated it before, and hate it now. Including the fact
that no article of clothing will stretch or button over it. So
much for me stunning JB with my Victoria's Secret self - it's
more likely I'd put out an eye.

:::

Gah. UPS just buzzed me. I am
never, EVER in a presentable state when we get a package. I'm
always an Unwashed Heathen, hair all kooky and breath all coffee-laced.
And for some reason, I have a really hard time with that weirdy
pen that you use so they capture your signature. I always feel
like I'm strenuously scrawling my name in the sand or something,
and my handwriting looks like a freakin 2 year old's. The UPS
guy probably thinks I'm..special, like the short bus.